


Sympathy for the Devil

by pixeletter



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Hannibal is not a cannibal but that doesn't make him a better person, I don't know how to tag this tbh, M/M, Will's POV, au-ish, un beta'd, unconditional Love probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-17 20:20:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixeletter/pseuds/pixeletter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I am in love with someone who is in love with killing other people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sympathy for the Devil

**Author's Note:**

> Roughly inspired by Aimee Bender's I Will Pick Out Your Ribs (from my teeth). My first shot in writing.

Here is my opinion of police stations: it’s bad.

Everyone is suspicious, looking at each other like someone is going to pull out a knife anytime, slice a gut until the floor screams red. People file cases, complaints, handcuffs rattling in the belt of every officer who pass by. I know they are ready and I have to remind myself that some of these people had probably killed other people too without as much as battling an eyelash. They all have those cold, hungry, primitive sides and if I dared to look close enough, I’m afraid I will have to run. I do not think that police stations are safe places at all. 

This seems very ironic to me since I am in love with someone who is in love with killing other people. You’d thought I’d choose a white-picket fence life. I did too. Once, anyway. 

He smiles charmingly at the officer occupying one of the many tables filled with papers, offers a handshake and grips hard when the officer, a woman, enthusiastically accepts it. The officer is smiling too. I hear murmured words of a short farewell before he turns his back to leave the table. Once out of sight, he rubs his gloved hand with a handkerchief subtlety, like the handshake contains dusts. He knows I can see him doing this. 

He walks up to where I am seated. I am waiting for him. A policewoman called me in the dead of the night to inform me that a friend of mine was involved in an incident _“Yes, Mr. Graham? He is safe but I am afraid his assaulter is far more unfortunate. We’ll tell you the de—yes, can you come down to the station?”_

To be honest, I don’t need the details. He will tell me the details soon. But I agreed to listen because the police seemed very eager to explain what happened. I admire her report, it’s _almost_ accurate.

I unconsciously turn my head down as he walks to me, that is until his polished leather shoes come into my line of sight. I gingerly look up, meeting his living gaze. I no longer feel awkward at looking. I see enough now. Although understanding is another thing.

He fixes his gloves. I look at the spot between his neck and shoulder. “I deeply apologize for having disturbed you, Will. I did tell them that an escort would be unnecessary.” His last sentence sounded bitterer with the Danish accent. Thick and deep and loaded. 

“You know they have to follow protocols. I am to take you home, I think I can manage that.” I tell him, rising from my seat. My weight feels heavier. How long have I been sitting?

“Of course. Thank you.” He says after a time. I lead us towards the entrance, brushing past more officers, mostly in their uniforms. I keep my head down. It’s weird enough that a guy as plain looking as me have to pick up a man as refined as Lecter out of a police station. He looks very out of place. Out of date too.

“I trust you didn’t bring your car.” I said as we walk to mine. 

I can hear his footsteps behind me. “You are right to trust me.” And somehow I think that sentence also means to say something else. I try not think hard. I just want to go home and sleep.

My keys rattle as I bring them out of my pocket. 

He comes from my back this time with those strong arms wrapping around my waist. I don’t feel comfortable. I can still smell the faint tinge of blood in his hands. Coppery. His skin is pale and diluted. I try to even out my breathing.

He is whispering me a promise.  
We both know what it is.

“Never.” He says to my ear. “Never again.” He repeats. His hug tightened and I imagine that these are the same hands and arms that stole all the tomorrows of a man a few hours ago. “This is the last and final time. I promise.”

We both know that isn’t true either.

We drive in silence and I drop him off of his sophisticated home. We do not look at each other. I appreciate the stillness and the low hum of the car’s engine. He tells me that he’ll call me later at home.

I drive to Alana’s place instead. When she opens the door, she is wearing a light-colored robe and her hair is sticking up in every angles. I know I disturbed her sleep but she still smiles when she sees me. How many people would do that for me, is the question in my head. 

She invites me in and we sit in the kitchen. The light is yellow and it hung above our heads. She gives me a glass of what I think is scotch. Did I look that wearied out?

“How are you?” Alana asks. 

I force a smile. There’s very little I can give back. “I picked Hannibal up from a police station.” I took a sip from my glass. “Apparently, he is a victim of an attempted theft and murder.”

Alana sits up straight, clearly awake now. I didn’t mean to stress her out. “Murder?” She asks. Her voice is masked with concern and unintended curiosity.

I don’t say what I heard. “A mugger. Hannibal fought back well. There was a knife in hand and it did not end well for the prior. Self-defense, the police agreed.” I don’t mention how convenient that is for Lecter. I don’t say a lot of things.

Hannibal must be calling home now. 

We talk a bit more, mostly about him, of course it’s going to be about Hannibal. I tell her we are doing all right. That I am as happy as I could be. Alana offered me a meal but I have to refuse. The dogs are waiting for me. Alana looks content when I left. For a second, I think she knows that I did not tell her everything.

The next day, I woke up to the sound the dogs barking. Not the angry bark, the excited ones. I don’t get up and it is of no surprise when I feel a presence looming by my bed side. I open my eyes to see the expected. He gives me a light turn of his lips, amused probably of my groggy state. He is always there to notice the simple things.

He pushes strands of hair away from my eyes, hand resting in my forehead when he stopped. I try to not lean into the touch. I really do.

“The promise I told you.” He starts and I know what is coming. I have lost count of the times we've done this conversation. “I am afraid I might break it.” The bed dips at the weight of his body as he sits down. His three piece suit rightly out of place of my abode. Like how he looked lost in the police station. I wonder if he wondered why it took me longer than what it normally would to get home last night. Like how could I miss his phone call? He don’t ask me about it. I am thankful for the modest privileges. 

“I know.” I reply and close my eyes and he does not leave me. We stay like that for a while. Breathing in, breathing out. 

There are more promises he will surely break.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are much appreciated :)


End file.
